(you owe me twenty)
by bs13
Summary: CoffeeShop!AU. Clarke and Lexa are gross, Raven's...herself, and Monroe needs to stop making bets. Also, if Murphy could stop having to play matchmaker for all his friends, that'd be nice too. Especially since, you know, the cute regular with the bandaged hand keeps witnessing everything.


**so since i can only write unoriginal aus, here it is: a coffee shop au (with the shop cutely called City of Light) and w/murphy the cranky barista. (also i've been working on this for months and it's still short, underdeveloped, and pure meaningless fluff)**

 **featuring: murphy/emori, clarke/lexa, raven/anya, monroe/harper, and wells/life. also has mentions of unrequited murphy/bellamy and miller/monty. aka: hardly anyone's straight, so you're welcome.**

* * *

John Murphy is shit with feelings.

Really, he is. He can't say anything without a hint of sarcasm in his tone, can't imagine sharing crush stories like the rest of the losers he calls his friends, can't even fathom the idea of _dating_ somebody. And yet, here he is, listening to _another_ of Clarke Griffin's endless rants about the pretty regular who makes her life a hell.

"I'm just saying no one should be that rude to a complete stranger," Clarke says, pointing her fork at Murphy. "Right?"

"I really could care less," is Murphy's reply, and Clarke, of course, just keeps talking.

"She's just so— _ugh_. She makes me mad! Walking in here, taking _my_ table, with her whole 'so you're the one who keeps leaving childish pictures on the table'—"

(Murphy agrees that Clarke's "mad" doodles designated to ward off potential table-stealers are pretty childish, but he likes living, so he wisely keeps his mouth shut.)

"—and she thinks she's so much better than me! She looks at me and goes, 'oh, you're an _art_ student,' but she's the one majoring in poli sci, as if _that's_ any better!" Clarke angrily stabs at the muffin on her plate with the fork in hand (she refuses to eat muffins like a normal person) and then looks up at Murphy again. "What do you think?"

"I think you should tip me a lot more for listening to your sexual frustration," Murphy suggests, and Clarke's cheeks go pink at the suggestion, as if she's _so_ subtle about her raging libido. "Just go fuck her or something. God knows Lexa wouldn't be so uptight."

"That's...ridiculous. And—and _gross_. I wouldn't...with _Lexa_. She's a pain in the ass! And—just really pretty. Oh, _fuck_." Clarke's eyes widen like she's just had an epiphany. "Oh my God, I _like_ her. This isn't real. This can't be real."

Murphy rolls his eyes, just to show how annoyed he is. "Riveting," he comments, and he gets up, regretting that he chooses to take his break whenever Clarke shows up (as if he doesn't see her enough at home). "I'm going back to work."

Clarke is still staring, wide-eyed, at nothing, and muttering to herself. "But what if she doesn't even like girls?" She's completely abandoned the fork at this point, and she's just anxiously twisting the edge of the muffin wrapper.

Murphy sighs, loud and obnoxious, just to let everyone know he hates this. "Listen," he grits out, regretfully, "Lexa's definitely not straight. I've overheard her talk to her scary friend about an ex-girlfriend. And she also complains a lot about your— _her_ words, not mine—'perfect face' and 'gorgeous eyes', so. Do what you will with that."

Clarke's panicked look slowly disappears, and a hopeful, rare smile takes over her face. "Really?"

"Yeah. Whatever. Just don't have a fucking Hallmark movie moment in here," Murphy grumbles, seeing Lexa push her way inside the coffee shop as if on cue. "I'm so done with this shit."

Clarke doesn't even answer him; she's already brushing past, getting to Lexa before the other girl can even order, and in less than a minute they're kissing. Smack-dab in the middle of the coffee shop, and people are staring, and this could potentially mean trouble.

Murphy rolls his eyes, hard, and goes to break them up. (Jaha doesn't pay him enough for this.)

.

.

.

"If you had to play 'Fuck, Marry, or Kill' with me, Clarke, and Octavia—"

Murphy doesn't even let her finish. "You'd be the dead one."

"What?" Raven Reyes, Murphy's coworker at City of Light (and patented pain in his ass) exclaims. "I should at least be your fuck. Come on, I'm _hot_."

"You're also annoying," Murphy says, snapping a lid on the caramel-whip-some-fucking-sugary-shit drink someone ordered, and calling, "Fox?"

Raven doesn't relent; even after the girl, Fox, comes to get her drink, she just starts following Murphy around when she's _supposed_ to be manning the register.

"Okay, so who's your fuck?" she demands, arms crossed.

"I don't know. Octavia," Murphy says, and shrugs, because he honestly isn't into Octavia _or_ Clarke like that (and much less Raven).

"So you'd marry Clarke?" Raven looks offended, both on her behalf as well as Clarke's.

"Don't worry about that, Lexa has me covered," Murphy says, and he jerks his head in the direction of what he and Raven have dubbed the "Griffin-Heda Nuptials," which is just the shared table Clarke and Lexa never seem to leave (or stop kissing at, which just makes Murphy's job harder).

Raven crinkles her nose. "Oh, gross. _Monogamy_."

"Can you even imagine," Murphy says dryly, and he walks over to the register since Raven's clearly not going to (and customers have since walked in). He takes a few orders, and starts to fix them up, but Raven stays hovering by his elbow.

"So if it was 'Fuck, Marry, or Kill' with me, Bellamy, and Jasper—"

"Can you maybe do your job? Just a suggestion," interrupts Murphy, angrily punching the buttons on the coffee maker a bit too hard. He isn't mad at Raven so much as he is angered by the mention of grade A asshole Bellamy Blake.

Raven sighs dramatically. "You're just trying to hide the fact you'd fuck Jasper," she says, but she squeezes his shoulder as she makes her way to the register to let him know she's sorry for bringing Bellamy up.

Murphy shakes his head to himself and treats the coffee maker a little gentler, about to start on someone's weird caramel/strawberry/pistachio latte, when Raven's nails dig into the skin of his exposed elbow out of nowhere.

And yeah, Murphy'll admit it, he jumps.

"Fuck!" he swears as hot milk splashes on the counter, jerking his hands away to avoid the worst of the burn. The milk pools on the floor around Raven's metal brace—which she hates, usually, because cleanup's a bitch—but she doesn't seem to notice, just keeps digging her fingernails into Murphy's skin frantically.

"You have to man the register," she half-whispers, half-exclaims. "I need to go."

"Like hell I do." Murphy glares at her, awaiting an apology for nearly giving him second-degree burns, but then he hears the distinctive sound of the bell ring that signals someone's walked in.

It's Anya. Which explains a lot.

Anya's another regular, and Lexa's "scary friend," as Murphy has come to call her. Anya comes in, Raven sasses at Anya, Anya deadpans back, and then they part ways—that's how it used to be. But lately Raven's taken to avoiding Anya like the plague, so as much as Murphy doesn't give a shit about his coworkers, he's slightly curious as to what happened there.

"Look, I'll—do inventory. In the back," Raven pleads. "Come on, do this one thing for me."

"I can't man the register _and_ make drinks," Murphy retorts. "Just go take her order. What's the big deal?"

"The big—" Raven risks a glance at Anya, who's stopped by the Clarke-and-Lexa-lovefest, and lowers her voice. " _The big deal_ is that I slept with her and she never called. So I'd rather _not_ face her this time around, thanks."

At that, Murphy rolls his eyes. Hard. (He does that a lot.) What Raven doesn't get is that whenever she runs off, Anya—stoic, scary, no-nonsense Anya—asks about her. 24/7. It's annoying as fuck.

"Did you give her your number?" he asks, annoyed, and practically _sees_ the gears in Raven's head turning.

"I...I think so? Maybe? Maybe not?" Raven says, and her eyes widen when Anya catches sight of her. "Shit, she's coming this way."

"Good. Take her order." Murphy heads into the back room to get a mop, and when he comes back, he sees Anya and Raven deep in conversation. They're gross, he thinks to himself, but then he casts a look at Clarke and Lexa. Clarke's literally _sketching_ Lexa.

(Nope, they're still grosser.)

.

.

.

Finn Collins comes in twice a week.

He's a regular prick, in Murphy's opinion. Finn's hair is always long and too well-kept, and he acts like tipping two dollars instead of one is a revolutionary act he invented. The fact he comes in every time Raven's gone pisses Murphy off even more.

"Hey, John." Finn greets Murphy like he always does: like they're long-lost friends or some shit. Murphy hates it. "I'll just have my usual."

Murphy doesn't give him a verbal reply, just holds out his hand for Finn's credit card. Finn doesn't seem to catch on, though.

"So where's Clarke?" Finn asks. "She's usually here."

Murphy barely holds back a scoff. "I dunno, Collins, I'm not her keeper," is what he says, even though he knows Clarke's off with Lexa on a rare date outside of the shop. "You want me to pass on a message?"

Finn looks like he's actually _considering_ the sarcastic offer, but he shakes his head after a moment. Poor Clarke. The girl's just too nice to shake off Finn's chase, and the guy's deluded into thinking he has a shot. Murphy decides to pull his trump card and get Finn out already.

"Raven's going to come by later, though," Murphy offers. "She might know where Clarke is."

Finn pales at the mention of his ex-girlfriend. "Oh. Uh, cool," he fumbles, and when his coffee's done, he nearly runs out of the building.

Murphy's just turned back to the coffee maker when he hears a snort. He turns back and raises his eyebrows, expectantly, as he catches sight of the girl sitting at the table close enough to hear everything.

"Sorry. He's a douche," the girl says, but she doesn't sound very apologetic. Murphy recognizes her; her name's Emori, and she's another regular. She's also the one who always orders caramel/strawberry/pistachio drinks that are really fucking weird, and who always has one of her hands wrapped in thick white gauze.

"Yeah," Murphy agrees after a moment, shrugging, "he is."

.

.

.

"You're cheating," Murphy grumbles, sourly. He kicks his legs out under the table to slouch better, then takes a drag on the cigarette offered his way, trying to ignore the cough threatening to burst past his lips.

"I'm not. You're a sore loser," Zoe Monroe says. They make another move and knock off one of Murphy's chess pieces before he's even passed the cigarette back.

"I hate this game," Murphy complains, and he leans back in his chair and peeks back to make sure Raven's still alive. She is; she's just slumped on the counter, snoring. She'd just finished a long shift at the garage she worked at, and yet still had to come to work at this hellhole. Luckily no one's here except Monroe, and Emori, who calls John by his first name more often than not now (which oddly doesn't bug him as much as it should).

"You just suck at this game." Monroe stubs out their cigarette, fingers idly tapping on the wooden table as they wait for Murphy to make his move.

Murphy tries to focus, and find some way to save his fucking queen piece, but he isn't good at strategy games. Or anything that requires concentration. It's the fault of sheer boredom that he's even playing (and the fact that Raven's dead to the world). Eventually he just makes a quick move that doesn't benefit him at all, hoping the game'll go faster.

Emori gets up from her seat three tables down, slinging a bag over her shoulder. Murphy's momentarily distracted by her hand; the one wrapped in gauze seems to be hurt, if the blood seeping through is any indication.

"Bye, John," Emori says, not commenting on the way she clearly sees Murphy's eyes flicker to her hand.

"Bye," Murphy mumbles, not ashamed of his actions, but weary of goodbyes. He hasn't spoken much to Emori; sometimes she'll sit by him and talk about her day, and he'll listen and throw in a story or two, but the extent of their acquaintance is casual hellos at this point.

Monroe snickers when Emori's gone. "John?" they taunt. "I thought only the asshole ex of Raven's called you that."

Murphy frowns. "Shut up," he says, and taps the black dent Monroe's cigarette made on the wooden table. "You'll have to pay for this, you know."

"Yeah. Right."

.

.

.

"Murphy, my man," Jasper says brightly, hands slipping off the goggles looped around his neck to awkwardly bump Murphy's fist. He misses, and then starts to laugh, so yeah. Jasper's very very high.

"Where's your lackey?" Murphy asks, already fixing up the heavily-whipped hot chocolate Jasper always wants when high. He also takes three different muffins off display, because Jasper'll demolish all the chocolate ones if Murphy doesn't intervene.

"Monty's on a _date_ ," Jasper laughs, dropping a crumpled mess of one dollar bills on the counter to pay. "I think. Or he's at school."

"He wouldn't have a date," Murphy scoffs. "He's got no game."

"'Cause I have enough for the both of us?" Jasper looks stupidly hopeful, so Murphy just rolls his eyes and starts to sort out the crumpled bills instead of replying.

Jasper gets bored easily enough and wanders off, muffin in hand, to go annoy Raven (who's wiping down tables). Murphy leaves the rest of Jasper's food on a nearby table, then takes the order of Maya, a quiet girl who he never sees out of scrubs. A med student, probably. Clarke would like her.

Emori's there, too. Murphy isn't sure why he's so hyperaware of her presence lately. He can admire her guts, okay; last week she faced off with Finn and dared him to shotgun his hot coffee when he kept trying to chat up Clarke. Murphy kinda feels bad for the guy. Finn may be a prick, but he's not a grade A asshole. He's got shitty communication skills and think he's hot shit when he's not, but he'd never intentionally be shitty.

Murphy, though, likes to be shitty. Mostly just because.

"Hey." Emori's voice breaks him out of his thoughts. She's standing before the counter, bloodless wrapped hand and free one resting before the cash register. "It's slow today."

"I guess." Murphy caps Maya's drink, then slides it over and lets Maya thank him and rush off before elaborating. "It's always pretty slow."

"Not always." Emori's eyes scan Murphy's face, as if trying to slowly study and figure him out. "You have a lot of friends here."

"I wouldn't call them friends," Murphy disagrees. "I'd say they're all pains in the ass."

"The curly-haired boy doesn't come by often anymore," Emori comments nonchalantly.

 _Curly-haired_...oh. Bellamy.

"No. Not really," Murphy says, then takes back the situation the only way he can: rudely. "Is there something you needed, or did you come here just to waste my time?"

Emori doesn't seem fazed by the response she gets. "I didn't know it was a touchy subject," she says thoughtfully, but doesn't press the issue. "Bye, John. Take care."

She stuffs a five-dollar bill in the tip jar, and then she's gone.

.

.

.

"I don't see it," Raven says after a moment. "He's cute in a 'broody bad boy' kind of way, but he doesn't seem the type to want a relationship."

Murphy just shakes his head. "You really know nothing, Reyes," he says, following her line of sight to focus on Nathan Miller, one of the other regulars. Miller always wears a beanie and never looks happy, but Murphy's seen the guy fake-propose to his boyfriend to piss off religious protestors. (Miller's a giant sap; he seriously roped in his friends to do a flash mob and everything.)

"I'm just saying...are he and Bryan serious? Like, really serious?"

Murphy throws a wet rag at her face, ignoring the question. "Go scrub down the displays," he says instead.

"Aye aye, captain dickhead," is the reply he gets, along with a mock salute. Raven taps Miller's cheek with the wet rag as she passes, which Miller bats away with a grin.

Murphy makes his way over to Miller's table as Raven disappears, plopping down in the seat across from his. "You heard all that," he states breezily.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Miller gives Murphy a lopsided smile, one so rare that Murphy's only seen it a couple of times. "She doesn't really think I'm broody, does she?"

"Everyone does." Murphy reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of notebook paper, setting the small ball in the middle of the table. "I got your message. You ever hear of texting?"

"I know Clarke goes through your phone," Miller says. "This was the best alternative."

"I change my phone password," Murphy argues, though he knows his roommate _does_ tend to steal his phone more often than not because she's always losing hers. "She doesn't get in it _all_ the time."

Miller just points behind Murphy, and when Murphy turns to look, he sees Clarke and Lexa coming in. One of Clarke's hands is holding Lexa's, and the other holds Murphy's phone. Murphy pats his pocket and realizes she must've stolen it when he fell asleep last night. _Dammit_.

"So," Miller says, opening the ball of paper, "did you consider it?"

"I'm good, actually," Murphy replies. "Did you wonder about that? Or, should I just take into consideration your shitty roommate's feelings and humor the bastard because he's _changed_?"

"Hey, I'm just the messenger." Miller raises his hands innocently. "I don't like being stuck in the middle."

Murphy just scoffs and stands up. "How about this," he says sharply. "Tell Bellamy to show up in person, and maybe I'll accept his stupid apology."

Miller stays quiet as Murphy stalks back to the register, but as he leaves not ten minutes later, he drops the same sheet of paper back on the counter. When Murphy opens it, he reads a new set of words: _Bellamy's not the only one who needs to apologize, you know._

(Murphy crumples it up and throws it out.)

.

.

.

Bellamy doesn't show up at first.

Instead, Wells Jaha shows up, Clarke in tow. They've been best friends for a long time, since they were kids, and Murphy likes to roll his eyes and tell Clarke to either bill Wells for how often he stays over or just move out with him.

"I have your phone," Clarke says, passing over Murphy's phone, the red case stained with black off her fingers. "Your password is rude."

How Clarke managed to guess his new password, "clarkesux," is beyond Murphy, but he just pockets his phone wordlessly and says, "You two going to order something today, or are you just going to loiter?"

Wells sheepishly orders a cappuccino. Of course the guy's a saint, actually acting like he _does_ have to buy something if he's going to spend his day here. He probably builds homes for homeless people in his spare time. And rescues stray puppies from heartless animal shelters. (It makes it hard for Murphy to hate him.)

Clarke just spills all her art supplies on a nearby table. "A double expresso for me, thanks," she tells Wells. "I'm inspired." (If the smudges of charcoal on her fingers and her bloodshot eyes are any indication, it's been an all-nighter of inspiration.)

"You know," Wells tells Murphy quietly as Clarke sketches up a storm, "I'm not exactly a fan of Bellamy's..."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Murphy groans, stepping back from the counter in exasperation. He should've guessed; Wells never strikes up a conversation with Murphy unless Clarke's around. "Is the entire fucking world on his side, or what?"

"I'm more on a neutral ground, actually." Wells doesn't look apologetic, but he does look understanding. "Look, I get it. I'm not a Bellamy fan. I still think he's kind of a jerk. Less of one, because he's changed, but still a jerk."

"Yeah, I'll bet," Murphy snorts, and he reaches past Raven (who of course is eavesdropping like the shit she is while preparing the orders) to grab the tongs designated for muffins. He reaches in the stand and takes a blueberry, Clarke's favorite, and drops it in a bag that he slides Wells's way.

"I didn't order this..."

"Listen, Jaha. I'm only saying this because your dad is sort of my manager and could easily get me fired, but you're not a total shitbag. So don't try and makes me hate you too." Murphy takes the finished orders Raven slides across the counter and shoves them in Wells's hands, then says, "You know, everyone seems to forget I've changed too."

(Raven bumps her hip against Murphy's when Wells walks away.)

.

.

.

Emori comes back.

It's not like she's been gone, though. Raven's mentioned it to Murphy—in passing, because it's not like he cares—that Emori's come increasingly on Raven's shifts, not Murphy's or their shared ones. Murphy's not exactly shocked; Emori practically lives on coffee. She couldn't be able to stay away. It's whatever.

"Hey." Emori's voice is bright, and her eyes are...stupidly hopeful, and somehow it doesn't feel like _whatever_. "You look like shit."

Murphy's nursing a rather intense hangover at the moment, but he finds it in himself to quirk an eyebrow anyway. "Do I? However will the girls stay away," he comments dryly. "Lemme guess, one weird-ass caramel/strawberry/pistachio hybrid."

"Nailed it, as usual." Emori's laugh is nice. Deep, but soft, and her smile after the laugh fades is the nicest sight Murphy's seen in a while. "Is your boss here?"

"Alie?" Murphy asks. He's met her, once; she's the creator (and owner) of City of Light. She always has a really unsettling smile, and wears a lot of red, but that's about all Murphy knows about her.

"You call him Jaha," Emori corrects him. "Is he in?"

Oh. Weird Jaha. Not Wells Jaha, but his creepy father. "He's never in," Murphy says as he starts fixing up Emori's order. "What d'you need him for?"

"We just need to talk." Emori's elbows drop on the counter, and she cranes her neck to look behind the counter. "Do you ever have trouble manning that thing?"

"No." Murphy gives her a dutiful glance. "Seriously, what do you need Jaha for?"

Emori's smile becomes quite devious. "Is John Murphy _curious_?"

Murphy rolls his eyes. "Alright, keep your secrets. I could care less," he grumbles. "Just letting you know that Jaha's batshit crazy."

"You seem to be pretty firm on that stance," Emori says, clearly interested. "Why's that?"

"I've started working here since it opened," Murphy replies, flatly. "I know."

"I'll bet." Emori's tone could be flirtatious. Murphy isn't sure. Either way, she just smiles when her coffee's done and stuffs another tip in the tip jar without another word.

.

.

.

When Bellamy Blake finally shows up, it's fucking raining.

Rain means two things. One, people are more likely to squeeze inside City of Light to drink their coffee instead of taking it on the go, and two, Murphy usually needs to bribe Clarke into giving him a hand behind the counter (for free, because Clarke's not an employee) because Raven refuses to leave bed when it rains. (She cites her prosthetic. Murphy calls bullshit.)

Clarke's explaining (read: defending) Lexa's weird obsession with candles, and Murphy's just rolling his eyes and making snarky comments about it when Bellamy and his sister, Octavia, walk in. Bellamy's hair is damp with raindrops, curls sticking to his skin, and he looks like he's reenacting the fucking _Notebook_ or something. (Murphy hates that Bellamy always looks effortlessly good.)

Clarke goes quiet, tapering off about lavender scents when she spots the Blakes. "Uh, Octavia's here, I should maybe go...talk to her," she says after a tense moment.

But fuck, Murphy's suddenly nauseous. "Wait—wait," he blurts out, uncharacteristically desperate as he catches Clarke's elbow before she can leave. "I could still use some help."

Clarke looks lost, eyes wide as they flicker between Murphy and the approaching Blakes. "I don't know..." she sighs, then gives in at Murphy's fish-out-of-water expression. "You _owe_ me."

Murphy lets go, grateful, as Bellamy and Octavia reach the counter.

"Hey." Bellamy's voice is hoarse, but tentative. "Can we just get two black coffees? And a chocolate chip muffin, too."

"I've got it," Clarke hurries to say, calculating the total in the amount of time Murphy processes that Bellamy's not even _fucking apologizing_ yet.

Octavia pays, and it's quiet—so quiet, in fact, that Clarke starts blurting out some story about Lexa's candles again, and Octavia and Bellamy play along, acting like this isn't another of Clarke's cop-outs. They laugh at all the right times, and tease and smile, but Murphy gets mad. He gets _pissed_. And before Clarke can even bring up the Target incident (her personal favorite, much to Lexa's chagrin), Murphy cuts in.

"So that's it?" he asks, sharply. "You're going to fucking act like nothing happened?"

Clarke's mouth falls open. Octavia looks a little mad, too. But Bellamy? He just sighs.

"Look," Bellamy starts, "I wasn't trying to be an asshole, Murphy." At Murphy's unamused snort, he presses on. "I _wasn't_. You know I had a lot on my plate. So I just—"

"Walked away," Murphy finishes. "Right?"

"I'm sorry." Bellamy's words sound even less sincere than on paper, if that's even possible. "We were friends. I'm sorry we aren't anymore. But we can change that, if you'd let me."

"Did Wells script this for you? I'm just curious. 'Cause _no way_ would you have spouted this bullshit at me yourself," Murphy snaps.

Bellamy's face sours at the mention of Wells. "Don't bring him into this."

"You're the one who kissed him," says Murphy, hotly. "You brought him into all this."

"And you tried to punch him!" Bellamy's getting mad now, too. "Did you even apologize to him?"

"If you bothered to keep in touch with him, you'd know that I did," Murphy says. "He comes by my place a lot, since I live with Clarke and all. But you wouldn't know that, would you? You just fuck 'em and leave 'em, right?"

" _Hey_ ," Octavia cuts in angrily, hands clenching into fists. "Shut up!"

"O, please." Bellamy gives his sister a warning look. "Just—get a table."

Octavia leaves in a huff, and Clarke slinks after her (much more discreetly, but Murphy still sees her leave). Bellamy looks back to Murphy.

"I kissed him. I know it hurt you to see that, and I'm sorry." Bellamy kicks at the ground, then sighs again. "I don't know what you want from me, okay? I messed up. I kissed you, and then an hour later I kissed another guy. I didn't know—" He stops, but Murphy hears it anyway: _I didn't know you were in love with me._

"You ran, too." Bellamy's voice is bitter. "You and me, we were always good no matter what. But this time, you avoided me. You deleted my phone number—Clarke told me. Then you started picking up shifts in this hellhole you always hated just to stay away."

"What do you want me to say?" Murphy demands. "That I'm fucking _sorry_? You think I should be sorry for thinking you and me—" _had something_. He shakes his head. "It's not my fault. _You_ kissed me back."

"I didn't think you were serious—you were drunk! I was drunk, and feeling like shit since I'd broken up with Echo. And Wells was just...there too." Bellamy looks more genuine now. "I was an asshole back then for exploiting your crush, and Wells's crush too. But I'm not that guy anymore."

"So you just send Miller to do your dirty work?"

"I thought you'd sucker-punch me if I showed up unannounced," Bellamy jokes, and Murphy's oddly not riled up at the attempt at humor. "Besides, we know each other's friends. There's only so many times I can visit Clarke without risking seeing you too."

Murphy isn't sure what to think. He knows, at least, that Bellamy wasn't trying to hit and quit him that night. Bellamy just isn't into him like that. That's no reason to throw away a friendship, shitty as it is (and shitty as the apology is too).

"Whatever." Murphy takes a step back. "I guess you can visit whenever. Just—maybe not all the time. Or so much."

Bellamy's smile is hopeful. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

.

.

.

"I have an idea."

"This can only end terribly," Murphy says as he dips his rag into a wet bucket, dripping soapy water onto Harper's table.

"Ha ha," Harper McIntyre drawls, lifting her cup of herbal tea out of the rag's way. "Seriously. I have an idea."

"If it's about scheduling a double date with you and Monroe again, that's a hard pass."

"What? Come on, you and Sterling had a great time, didn't you?"

Murphy makes a point of meeting Harper's eyes as he slowly says, "He crawled out of the bar bathroom window to go meet up with a fuck buddy halfway through the date."

"...right, I forgot about that. He and Mel are actually going strong now. Who would've thought it?"

"..."

Harper awkwardly clears her throat. "Anyway, my idea. I think you should have a karaoke night here."

Murphy doesn't even need to stop and think about that awful suggestion. "No."

"Come on! I know you can rock a Backstreet Boys song!"

" _No_. The last thing this place needs is sober karaoke. A bar would make sense, but _here_? No way." Murphy drops the rag back into the bucket. "Jaha would need to buy equipment and stuff, wouldn't he?"

Harper snaps her fingers. "That's the beauty of it—I can lend you the equipment, free of charge."

"Can you?" asks Murphy, suspiciously. "Alright, now I _know_ you've got a hidden agenda."

"I'm...being a friend?"

"Nope. Next."

Harper taps the edges of her cup, sheepish all at once. "Monroe wants somewhere to do karaoke and doesn't like bars?"

Murphy sighs. "You two are disgusting."

(Jaha, of course, fucking _loves_ the karaoke idea.)

.

.

.

Harper's karaoke equipment _sucks_.

Murphy has no patience to sort through the mess of wires and cables to set up the thing. He isn't even sure what the thing _is_. Raven should be the one setting it up; _she's_ the one who is studying engineering, after all, and Murphy's the college dropout. But Raven's off on her break (which has morphed from fifteen minutes of talking to Anya to forty-five minutes of suspicious activity in the bathroom) and hasn't come back, so Murphy is left trying to sort through the chaos.

Which, of course, results in him somehow tangling up his legs in cables, and he ends up a heap of disgruntled, scraggly-haired barista on the floor. (Monroe, who is witnessing the entire spectacle, laughs their fucking ass off.)

"Laugh it up, asshole," Murphy growls, kicking uselessly as he tries to get up.

Clarke and Lexa, momentarily untangling themselves from their gross love fest, leave behind Monroe (who is nearly falling on the floor theirself, with how hard they're laughing) to give Murphy a hand. Lexa is oddly efficient when she works to untangle the cables, diving in with purpose and morphing from lovesick puppy to cold professional. Clarke, on the other hand...

"Stop wiggling so much," Clarke scolds Murphy, smudging the charcoal over his cheeks. "I need a practice subject. Hold _still_ , Murphy."

(Monroe, the asshole, laughs harder.)

By the time Lexa's done, Murphy has barely enough time to violently wrench himself out of Clarke's grasp and get off the floor when Emori comes in. She has her bandaged hand in a glove today, and sunglasses atop her head, but the slow, satisfied smile she has is the same as always.

"You've got something on your face," Emori laughs, tapping her cheek to demonstrate, and all Murphy can do is glower at Clarke.

(Turns out Clarke's trying to create a signature look for Lexa's future Halloween costume. She calls it a "post apocalyptic warlord look." Murphy calls it fucking disgusting, and tells her to use her goddamn girlfriend as a test subject.)

.

.

.

Murphy knows Alie when he sees her.

That same unsettling smile that Murphy'd know anywhere is trained on Raven when Murphy walks into City of Light. Raven looks mildly terrified. Or turned on. (Murphy doesn't want to think about the latter.) He proceeds with caution anyway, fastening on his apron and stepping behind the counter.

"John Murphy." Alie immediately zeroes in on Murphy's face, clasping her hands close to her heart as her red lips thin into a smile just as unsettling as before. "You're late."

"Traffic was a bitch," replies Murphy slowly, unsure how Alie even knows he's scheduled to come in earlier. He tries to catch Raven's eye, but Raven doesn't meet it (purposely, which Murphy's baffled by).

Alie nods. "I'm sure," she says calmly, and then her blood red fingernail is scraping underneath Murphy's chin, forcing him to meet her eye. She studies him wordlessly, face blank, but then she's stepping back and smiling in an instant as if nothing's happened. "You have dirt on your face, John Murphy," is all she says, and then she turns and leaves.

Raven breathes out a low, shaky, " _What the fuck_?" and Murphy's inclined to agree.

.

.

.

"Lexa, a creepy lady outside keeps trying to sell me stuff!"

Murphy snorts to himself, looking towards the door as Clarke and Aden, Lexa's little brother, walk into the café hand-in-hand. Lexa looks mildly alarmed at her brother's words, but Clarke just shakes her head and mouthes _Alie_ to Murphy. Which, yeah, makes sense.

"I swear she's selling speed," Raven murmurs to Murphy as she fixes up a pair of black coffees for the Blake siblings. "Last time she came in, she was all, 'I can get rid of your emotional pain'...which I'm sure involved a lot of drug selling..."

"It would explain why Jaha's so crazy," Murphy offers, and Raven's eyes widen.

"You're _right_. Anya, babe, second love of my life—"

Anya, who's been listening to the whole conversation (as she's leaning by the counter), rolls her eyes. "No."

"I can give you the money!"

"I'm _not_ buying drugs from your insane boss outside," Anya says curtly, which is of course when Octavia and Bellamy walk up to the counter for their drinks.

"Is that your boss outside?" Bellamy asks Murphy. "She's...intense."

"Even more than Indra," Octavia agrees, no doubt referring to the commander of her army troop she hadn't shut up about since her service ended.

Anya chooses that moment to walk off, undoubtedly to make fun of how Clarke and Aden are hanging out now. Raven breathes an audible sigh of relief, then grabs the front of Bellamy's shirt in a panic.

"I just called Anya the second love of my life. Oh my God, what the hell?!"

Bellamy yelps, handing off his coffee to Octavia before it can spill. "Do you have more than one love in your life?" he asks, annoyed, as he breaks away and fixes his shirt.

"Coffee owns my heart. Always," says Raven (quite seriously) before she begins to panic again. "Shit, we haven't even said I love you to each other. We're not even, like, dating."

"What?" Octavia scoffs. "Come on, you two are as gross as Clarke and Lexa."

Everyone's heads swivel to look. Clarke currently has her arm around Lexa's waist, and Lexa's blushing and ducking close enough so Clarke can kiss her temple.

Raven gags. "Um, no way in hell are we _that_ gross."

"You're the one in love, so joke's on you," Murphy says, to which Raven flicks his ear for.

"If you need help with a proposal, Reyes, I man a camera pretty well," Bellamy jokes, and Octavia grins.

"Do I get to be your maid of honor?" she asks, batting her eyelashes exaggeratedly.

Raven scowls. "I hate you all," she decides, and she disappears into the back room for good measure.

.

.

.

"Hi, John."

Murphy blinks once, twice, and then again to make sure he isn't hallucinating. Sure he was pretty drunk last night and is still feeling a hangover, but unless this is all a dream, he's currently standing two feet away from Emori, who is _behind_ the counter and not in front of it as usual.

"You're, ah, where I stand," is all Murphy thinks to say.

Emori smiles. "Sorry, I wasn't aware you had a specific spot where you stand," she says, but she takes a step back anyway. "Surprise? I'm your new coworker."

"So when you said you had to talk to Jaha..."

"I'm persistent." Emori waits until Murphy's stepped behind the counter to add, "Also, Alie really likes me. For some reason."

"Right, Alie," Murphy snorts. "Did she offer you drugs, too?"

Emori smirks. "You mean, did she offer to 'get rid of my emotional pain'? Yes, she did, and I didn't _totally_ blow her off, so that's probably why she likes me so much."

"Figures." Murphy gets his apron and finally ties it on. "So, do I get to be the unlucky loser showing you the ropes?"

"I don't see any others," Emori replies, and Murphy can't help but give a small smile at that.

.

.

.

Anya brings Raven lunch for the third day in a row before Raven snaps.

"I love you," Raven blurts out, midst the lunch hour rush and with Murphy and Emori within earshot. "I mean...fuck. I'm in love with you. Sort of. Maybe. Yes."

Murphy snickers. Emori elbows him (but softer than Raven would've done, certainly).

Anya's face remains blank as Raven babbles on. She's still stoic, and doesn't melt or smile or suggest to take the conversation elsewhere. No, she just reaches across the counter and kisses Raven _hard_ , even when customers in line give them strange looks or try to get around them to the sugar packets. Emori pulls Murphy away, likely to offer some privacy (if that's even possible in the very public place they're in).

But Murphy sees Anya whisper something against Raven's lips, and it makes Raven smile wide, and he sighs to himself. He now owes Monroe twenty dollars.

.

.

.

The first actual karaoke night with everyone present is disastrous.

Wells, Clarke, and Lexa show up first. Poor Wells is the unlucky third wheel. Then Monroe and Harper come, hands intertwined and stealing kisses like no one's there, and Wells becomes even more of a third wheel. Miller, his boyfriend Bryan, and Monty and Jasper show up soon after though, luckily inspiring talk not at all about relationships. Raven and Anya come in too, Anya with her arm slung around Raven's waist, and jokes start coming off at their expense, but luckily never stray into questioning the relationship status.

But then Octavia comes in with her new boyfriend, Lincoln, while a sulking Bellamy (and his date, Gina) follow. It becomes relationship central _very_ fast. Murphy's even dragged away from the counter to join (even though he isn't working tonight, and is just keeping Emori company at this point).

"So what do you do, Lincoln?" Miller asks, no doubt laying on double the overprotectiveness Bellamy's already given; he is Bellamy's childhood best friend, after all, and has come to think of Octavia as his sister too.

"I'm an artist, mostly," Lincoln replies. "But I do handy work down at the docks on the side."

"Artist, huh? Not a lot of money in art," Miller says.

Clarke beats everyone to kick his shin underneath the table, which Miller yelps at. "I'm an artist too," she tells Lincoln happily, of course all while squeezing Lexa's hand. "What do you work with, mostly?"

Art talk tapers off into Clarke, Lincoln, and Lexa listening in, so everyone drops off into their own conversations.

"Hey _John_ ," Monroe whispers, "how's it going with the new girl?"

Murphy, who's been nursing his black coffee all night and wishing there was alcohol in it, begrudgingly meets Monroe's eyes. "Who?"

"Emily or something. The one who calls you John? Started working here a couple weeks ago?"

"Ooh," Harper cuts in excitedly, "are you crushing?"

Murphy rolls his eyes. "Emori? She's just a friend."

"Don't lie to me. You've got to have kissed her by now," Monroe scoffs, and at Murphy's unimpressed stare, they sigh. "Come on. She's so into you it's painful to watch."

Murphy quirks an eyebrow at her. "Are you creeping on me now?"

"I have two eyes," is Monroe's reply. "And you haven't told her to fuck off, so I'm guessing you like her."

"I like her better than the sorry company you two are," Murphy says with a smirk, and Harper sticks out her tongue.

Monroe just grins in response, slinging an arm around Harper's shoulders. "Well don't look now," they sing-song, "but she's looking."

Murphy meets Emori's eyes, and she smiles again, that disarming smile that lights up her face. He feels something stir in his chest, something warm and dizzying that he hasn't felt since Bellamy smiled at him under his mop of curly hair freshman year of high school. He quickly averts his eyes, about to make an excuse to disappear to the bathroom, when Raven gives a loud _whoop_ and the opening bars of "Pour Some Sugar on Me" start playing.

Gina and Raven, who have struck an impromptu friendship, take turns switching lines in a messy fashion that really doesn't benefit anyone but themselves. Bellamy laughs though, and Anya rolls her eyes when Raven sings to her, and Murphy feels the strangest thing yet: jealousy. It's not the same feeling when he saw Wells and Bellamy kissing though. No, it's deeper, more potent, because for once Murphy wonders what it would be like to love someone like that.

(And then things go sorely downhill.)

Jasper honest to God tries to _rap_ , and Monty, Raven, and Clarke boo him until he shamefully shuts off the song two verses in. Then Monty insists on partnering with Harper to sing Brandi and Monica's "That Boy is Mine" (in which no one wins), and Monroe records the entire thing just for future blackmail. Clarke tries to sing with Lexa, but Lexa refuses, so instead she takes Octavia and they sing TLC's "No Scrubs" in such a rambunctious manner that they nearly knock over a table somehow.

Bellamy and Miller team up to sing a _horribly_ off-key rendition of Erasure's "A Little Respect," and then Wells and Monroe take on at least three songs from _Grease_ before they're finally booed down, but that's not even the worst. No, the issue lies with Raven, Clarke, and Octavia insisting on singing together.

The problem? They choose a _Justin Bieber song._

" _I know you love me, I know you care_ ," Raven sings to Anya, and those unlucky souls sitting inside the café who don't belong to their friend group have to endure the overdramatic way Raven belts out the lyrics.

Emori meets Murphy's eyes again halfway through, and this time it's a silent question _: are they okay?_ Murphy just shakes his head and grimly sips at his coffee; he's way too sober for this.

It's near chaos at their table. Monroe's laughing their ass off, damn them, and Harper's recording the whole thing on three different phones. Lincoln looks very alarmed at what he's gotten himself into, while Gina claps and sings a lyric or two herself in obvious delight. Bellamy looks horrified, both at the song choice and the way his baby sister tries to make the song sexy. (It doesn't work.)

Jasper resorts to throwing chunks of his muffin. Especially when Clarke starts rapping to Ludacris's part in the song, mostly out of hurt of his own poor life choices. Monty covers his ears and rests his head on the table, and Bryan looks like he's about to follow suit any second. Miller, for his credit, leans against Bryan's arm and tries very hard not to look as scandalized as everyone else is. Lexa looks torn, partly entranced by the way Clarke sings and winks at her, but also very, very disgusted to be witnessing three grown women singing the worst song known to mankind.

But then Wells moves as if to get up and escape to the bathroom, and everything begins to fall apart. Monroe nearly tackles him to get him to stay, and Jasper begins hurling muffin pieces at him too, and people start to yell. Namely, Harper, whose third recording phone drops off the table, and also Anya, who owns the phone. Monty falls off his chair in shock. Bellamy and Miller elbow each other out of the way to help. Lexa gets doused in cold herbal tea when Lincoln tries to save Anya's phone and knocks over Harper's cup in his haste.

The song ends, with Octavia crooning out the last line (atop a table, head thrown back for dramatic effect), but the chaos doesn't. Gina tries to help Bellamy off the floor too (he and Miller had both fallen for their efforts), but only results in being part of their three-person heap that becomes four when Bryan tries to intervene. Lexa is confusedly stripping off her shirt, forgetting she's in a public place, and Clarke goes red in the face and lunges to throw her jacket at Lexa. (She knocks over two tables in the process.)

Raven starts cursing in Spanish as she tries to calm Harper and Anya down, but Anya's phone _is_ pretty broken and it's not really working. Murphy tries to calm everyone down by yelling at everyone to shut the hell up and stop moving, but it doesn't work, and customers who walk in slowly trickle out. Emori's forced to quietly tap Murphy's shoulder and let him know that his friends are sort of scaring business away.

So yeah. They're escorted off the premises.

.

.

.

Finn is absolutely terrified of Emori.

It's sort of funny to see his reaction when he comes in for the first time since Emori was employed. His eyes bug out and he motions as if to leave (something Murphy has only dreamed about) when Emori calls Finn out.

"Collins, right?" she says as she hands off a coffee cup. "Your usual?"

Finn looks at Murphy, who's stocking up the coffee machine, as if silently pleading to save him. Murphy just keeps working.

"Yes, my usual," Finn says after a long pause, nervously approaching the counter. "Do you know it, or—"

"I've got it." Emori starts fixing up his drink, injured hand expertly helping to balance the cup as she fills it to the brim.

Finn clears his throat. "Your hand isn't a health code violation, is it? Just—to be sure?"

Emori slowly makes a show of capping his coffee with her injured hand. "No," she tells him as she pushes it across the counter, "but I can kick your ass with it if you want. That should be cause for some violations."

Finn visibly gulps. "I didn't mean—"

"There's not an _issue_ here, is there?" Raven pipes in from behind Finn, all faux sweetness.

Finn blanches. "Raven! Hi, h-how have you been?" he stammers. "It's...been a while."

"It's so good to see you when you're not avoiding me, Finn," Raven says sweetly, and she takes over for Emori, who has an early test she has to take. "How are you?"

"Fine. Good. You?" Finn hurriedly hands his credit card to Raven, itching to leave.

"Oh, I'm great. I have a girlfriend now," Raven tells him proudly. "We're in love. You know how it goes."

Finn smiles, but it looks more like a grimace. "That's great. I'm happy for you."

"And what about you? Did the blond girl you fucked in our bed pan out?" Raven asks, smile wide and faux innocent as she slowly rings him up. "Do you want a receipt?"

"No. No receipt," Finn blurts out, and as soon as Raven hands him his card he's out of there. In fact, he doesn't even tip his two dollars; he just reaches into his wallet and shoves the nearest bill he finds, which is a ten dollar bill.

Murphy whistles as Finn nearly topples Emori over in his haste to leave. "You know, he isn't a bad guy," he says.

"Still a douche, though," Emori cuts in, and she smiles that dizzying way of hers and folds her apron. "Bye, John. Bye, Raven."

"Bye!" Raven says, and Murphy nods, but when Emori's gone Raven flicks Murphy's ear—hard. "Did you seriously play the 'he's not all bad' card?"

"Just saying. I feel for him." Murphy raises his hands innocently.

Raven snorts. "Yeah, 'cause you're both _assholes_."

.

.

.

"I was born with my hand like this."

It's quiet, just before opening hours, and Murphy is slowly starting up the coffee machine. He doesn't say anything—doesn't even let Emori know he's heard her—and just keeps working, lest she stop talking.

"It was...pretty bad. Two of my fingers, kind of...combined? Just a mess of bones and skin and cartilage, you know." Emori acts like she's talking about the weather, the way she casually breezes around the empty place and pulls the chairs down off the tables and on the ground. "They tried to fix it. I don't know how. But it got worse...really sensitive. It bleeds sometimes. It's like something out of a horror movie."

Emori drags two chairs into their final positions, the metal scraping the hard floor loudly. Then she steps back behind the counter, and starts testing the register, and it's quiet again. Murphy looks at her bandaged hand, and the way she expertly manages to use her three working fingers to press and pull in all the right ways.

"I think it's pretty badass," Murphy offers after a long moment, and he ducks into the back room to avoid seeing Emori's reaction.

(He doesn't know it, but Emori smiles after him.)

.

.

.

"Do you ever feel lonely?"

Murphy takes another hit of the joint, letting a minute idle past before he even answers, "I guess."

"But...like _lonely_ ," Monty presses, taking the joint back just to feel it between his fingers. "Not in a relationship way. Or a friend way. Just...just because you think about how big the universe is and how weird it is that you're a small speck in it. You know?"

Murphy snags the joint back. Then he repeats, "I guess."

That makes Monty relax, at least, and he leans back on Murphy's carpet with a sigh. Murphy stays sitting, but he looks down at Monty's face to gauge what the younger boy is thinking. Monty doesn't look deep in thought; there's no worried crease between his eyebrows as usual, stressed as he gets with school and work, so Murphy hands the joint back.

"I think," Monty muses aloud, soft and relaxed as he blows out smoke, "that life's kind of fickle. People wait around forever for things that never happen. They hope and pine and wish and it just—it's nothing. Nothing happens, and it hurts sometimes."

Murphy knows how philosophical Monty gets when high, but he still smirks anyway. "That wouldn't be code for 'I'm pining over Miller,' is it?"

Monty's eyes widen in horror. "No! Don't tell him!"

"Relax," Murphy chuckles. Only high Monty would reveal something like this; when he's not high, Monty gets very defensive. But at the same time, Murphy stops and thinks about his own life, and suddenly Monty's high philosophy hits pretty hard.

.

.

.

Emori tells Murphy about her family, when the shop is closed and quiet and only Clarke sits tucked in the corner, sketching the falling rain. She tells him she was given up for adoption, cast out like an imperfection the family couldn't have.

"I liked to pretend they'd come back for me," Emori says softly, eyes fixed on the rain too as if she can't face Murphy whenever emotions are present. "I liked to dream my hand would be fixed someday, and that they'd show up on the front steps of the orphanage to take me home."

Murphy thinks of his dad, and the way he'd sit at the edge of Murphy's bed when he was sick, pressing his cool hand to Murphy's clammy forehead and promising to take away the pain.

"Yeah," Murphy says after a moment. "I liked to think that, too."

Emori doesn't show any shock at the revelation that Murphy is an orphan too, but she does take his hand. And just...holds it. So Murphy starts to talk, about how his father left to buy medicine for Murphy's cold and never got home; about how his mother blamed it on him, and drank herself to death too; about how Murphy can't stand driving in the rain because he thinks of his father's car losing traction and crashing.

"It's funny how life fucks you up," Emori says when he's done, still holding his hand and stroking the back of it comfortingly.

"Fuck life," Murphy agrees, and Emori smiles and lets go, her fingers brushing briefly over his palm.

(On the ride home, Clarke teases him mercilessly, but it's worth it.)

.

.

.

It's just after closing time when Bellamy shows up, a flask tucked in his jeans, and he and Murphy sit behind the counter and drink.

"Gina and I broke up," Bellamy admits as they get halfway through the flask. He does look worse for wear, just as he had when Echo had left him, all tousled hair and glassy eyes and twitching fingers.

"That sucks," Murphy says after a beat, and he slowly passes the flask back only to see Bellamy take a chug worthy of a man dying of dehydration. Murphy wants to ask why Bellamy and Gina broke up, but he remembers what had happened after Echo, how Bellamy had leaned in and kissed him so sweetly it had seemed so meaningful, and he decides that's a shit idea.

Besides, Bellamy tells him anyway, without any prompting. "I was just...really distant," he muses. "She thought I was pining after Raven at one point."

"Did you tell her you and Raven fucked once upon a time?" Murphy laughs, because that had been a disastrous almost-relationship that had haunted everyone involved.

"Yes." Bellamy lets that sink in, and he tilts his head slowly as realization hits him. "Huh. Maybe that was why she thought I was pining."

"You think?" Murphy snorts. "You're a fucking mess."

Bellamy stays silent a second too long, but then he laughs. "Yeah. I guess I am," he says, and he takes another healthy swig. "Clarke says you're doing well."

"Clarke thinks she can climb walls when she's drunk."

Bellamy smirks. "Is that a yes? Does it have anything to do with that girl who started working here?"

"...man, fuck _off_ ," Murphy groans, and Bellamy just laughs harder.

"You're a good guy, Murphy," Bellamy says in his wistful, tipsy way that comes out when he's drinking. "She'd be lucky to have you."

"Actually, I'm an asshole," Murphy corrects him. "And I'd be lucky to have her."

Bellamy's smile, crooked and warm, only grows. "Yeah, you are an asshole," he agrees, and then he passes the flask back.

.

.

.

Emori is setting up when Murphy walks in, hungover and in yesterday's clothes, but she still looks at him and _smiles_ like it makes no damn difference that he looks like shit. It makes his gut twist uncomfortably, because _fuck_ she's pretty and so good to him for no reason, and his stupid friends might be right.

"Hey," Murphy croaks out. "Sorry I'm late."

"It's okay. Not like there's a dinner rush or anything," Emori jokes. She hands off a mop with her bandaged hand and gestures towards the back of the shop. "Can you mop the back? I spilled some water back there."

"Yeah, okay." Murphy does as she asks, but can't help but let his eyes wander to where Emori is fixing up the front counter, probably humming as she works. He realizes that for the first time since he's started working here, he doesn't hate opening the store anymore. At least not when Emori's there.

Emori catches him looking, of course, because the universe hates him. "What?" she questions.

"Nothing," Murphy says, and he shakes his head to himself. "You look nice."

"Oh?" Emori quirks an eyebrow, apron in hand, which she shakes for emphasis. "But I haven't even put on this oh-so-flattering thing. Just imagine how much better I'll look then."

Murphy smirks. "Just saying," he says innocently, and he takes the mop to wring it out in the bathroom, but not before he lingers by the counter. "You know, if you hadn't gotten a job here, I'd offer to buy you a cup of coffee sometime."

"If you'd have offered that months ago, maybe I wouldn't have had to," is Emori's clever reply, and Murphy can't argue with that.

"Well, I can treat you to a free coffee, on Alie's dime," Murphy suggests. "I make a mean caramel/strawberry/pistachio latte."

This time, when Emori smiles, it doesn't soften Murphy's heart so much. Instead, it makes it stutter completely in a way that's sort of scary (but also kind of nice, not that he'll tell his gross in-love friends that).

And Emori says, "I'd like that, John Murphy, very much."

(Monroe can eat their _fucking heart out_ , because they now owe Murphy twenty bucks.)

* * *

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 **why is this under "100" and not "the 100"? that messes with my head. anyway hmu on tumblr at djsugar if any of you want to talk about how the 100 is trash (or how this story is trash).**


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